


Driftglass

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, McShep Match Challenge 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1890 John Sheppard and Rodney McKay enjoy a long distant relationship. When they meet again, romance isn't far behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driftglass

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Vintage John and Rodney](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926111) by [mischief5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief5/pseuds/mischief5). 



**Title:** Driftglass  
 **Team:** Team Cool  
 **Wordcount:** ~7,800  
 **Rating:** NC17  
 **Pairing(s):** McKay/Sheppard  
 **Beta** by **Prompt(s):** Twist of Fate  
 **Summary:** In 1890 John Sheppard and Rodney McKay enjoy a long distant relationship. When they meet again, romance isn't far behind.

 

**Driftglass**

Professor Sheppard sat at his desk and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up higher on his nose. With a scowl, he decided the only thing for it was to start from the beginning. Again. Too intrigued by the puzzle to let it rest for long, he pulled the small cedar chest close and began to catalogue its items one more time. 

This new box contained odd, flat pieces of blue-colored glass. They caught the afternoon light and sparkled like sun on the water. John took each piece, turned it thoughtfully in his hand, and placed it on the desk. He liked to line the puzzles pieces from left to right and inspect each in turn. He surprised himself when he realized he'd laid all eight pieces out in a circle. Odder still, he couldn't shake the feeling that one was missing.

Mr. Rodney McKay persisted in sending him the oddest assortment of things, but one thing stayed consistent: they always held a clue to something else. It could be a fascinating, new scientific development, a rare discovery, or merely an oddity that took Rodney's fancy. Nevertheless, the surprise never failed to make John smile.

Last time, the puzzle box had held rope, squares of colored silk, and a photograph of a clear sky over a wide-open field. John easily surmised that his friend was working on some type of hot air balloon. The tiny, two-inch-long balsa wood propeller had him baffled until he realized Rodney had actually discovered a way to control the balloon's direction. 

John put his chin on his fist and wished madly that he could have seen it in flight. Dear God, how he yearned to be there and take part in the grand adventure. Not for the first time, John cursed fate and the damned accident with the runaway horse. 

Carefully, he leaned back in the wooden wheelchair. On good days, a cane sufficed. This wasn't a good day. Yet, he'd saved young Ford from serious injury, and John tried to be satisfied enough with that. Better to be crippled knowing he did the right thing than to be whole in body and allow his ward to be trampled to death.

Now Ford was all grown up and seeking his fortune out West. Before he left, John gave him his blessing and what funds he could scrape together. Letters arrived home sporadically and were filled with romantic hopes. 

Ford's latest letter spoke of campfires at twilight as ten thousand people milled on the grassy slopes of the Cimarron Valley. John had pinched the bridge of his nose and heartily wished his former ward would give up on the purple prose. Dime novels had a lot to answer for.

As for himself, if John wanted to indulge in romantic fantasy, well, then – his fingers trailed slowly over the wooden box. He had plenty right here in front of him to spark his imagination. These amusing puzzles never defeated him for long, but the flights of fancy they took him on lasted for days. Even now, he could imagine how astounding it would be to go on a balloon ride with McKay. 

A smile creased his face as he pictured it. Just the two of them with the open sky arching above them as far as the eye could see, John on lookout, directing them forward, spyglass in hand while Rodney steered them into the wild blue yonder. Forward ho! – and onward to the next adventure. It would be magnificent!

John played with the glass pieces, his long fingers idly stroking over each in turn. He was quite aware that, to an outside observer, his close connection to Rodney made little sense. After all, he'd only met the man twice. 

The first time had been at a lecture hall. The speaker had been a sour, snippy prig of a man with thin lips and a thinner sense of humor, setting John's teeth on edge. Spittle flew as the speaker had disparaged the opening of the local Red Cross. Near as John could tell, the idiot's reasoning had hinged on the fact that its founder was a woman. 

He had cheered inside as Canadian adventurer Rodney McKay stepped up to the podium. Blue eyes snapping in indignation, he had thoroughly and systematically listed every good work the American Red Cross had accomplished, up to and including last May's Johnstown flood disaster. By the time he had finished, applause had filled the lecture hall and John had fervently wished he could join the others in their standing ovation.

Perhaps he couldn't stand, but he could introduce himself and offer to take Mr. McKay to dinner. Ignoring the crowd, John had hastily scribbled the invitation on the back of his card and flagged down one of his students to deliver it. 

Message delivered, John had watched as his student handed off the card and pointed in his direction. He'd given a slight half-bow in acknowledgement. To his relief, Mr. McKay's face had lit up, and with a nod in return, he'd tucked John's card securely in his vest pocket, giving it a firm pat. 

The second time they'd met was the following evening. It had been a good day. John had needed only his cane, the pain in his leg staying at a dull throb and easy to ignore. Mr. McKay was already at the restaurant waiting for him, bouncing with irrepressible exuberance. John's heartbeat had fluttered in his throat as he'd realized they would be eating in a private room. It had been pure foolishness on his part, and yet, it hadn't stopped his palms from sweating. He'd given them a quick wipe on his trousers before shaking McKay's hand and praying the man wouldn't notice.

"Please, call me Rodney, Professor Sheppard. Mr. McKay is too formal, and there's no need for us to stand on ceremony."

"In that case, I insist you call me John. My students call me Professor Sheppard, and that only serves to make me feel old."

John had reluctantly let go of Rodney's hand. To stand there holding it could only have turned awkward. He'd never noticed the small sigh from Rodney as he let go.

The pristine table linen and silver place settings had lent an understated elegance to the room. Rodney, in contrast, had looked too large for his surroundings. Maybe it was his broad shoulders, or his hands that pierced and shaped the air when he talked. Or maybe it had been his engaging smile that flashed brighter than the restaurant's electric lighting. No, not too large, John had decided. Vivid. Yes, that was a better description for Rodney McKay. John had leaned forward in his seat, thoroughly relishing Rodney's tales of world adventures, and had been utterly charmed by this grown man's boyish enthusiasm. 

A connection had fired between them that night, one he couldn't explain, but he could feel it to the root of his being. It was obvious Rodney felt it too, as evidenced by the weekly letters and the monthly puzzle boxes he sent without fail. How long had it been now? Six boxes meant a half year since he'd seen Rodney. Too long, yet he had hope. John's classes were finished for the summer. They'd ended yesterday, and once he finished this last pile of grading, he was a free man until fall. 

This last box, according to its return address, came from Dunster Castle in England. John's brain twisted and fought for a solution around his infirmity and his finances. He needed to find a way to meet Rodney again, assuming Rodney was still there. Self-proclaimed adventurer and genius, Rodney's travels took him all over the world. John sometimes wondered why the fellow didn't have degrees the length of his arm. Some circumstance, perhaps, or a disgrace that John wasn't yet privy to? 

He had his suspicions. Universities might not declare intimate male affection as their reason for expulsion, but that wouldn't stop them from trumping up a covering excuse. John sighed. Likely, he was being entirely too fanciful. It might well be philos Rodney felt for him and not eros. Reluctantly, he admitted he had no real proof of anything more. He knew where his own passions lay. That didn't mean he was ready to confess to Rodney how often he appeared in John's erotic daydreams.

John swallowed hard, throat gone suddenly dry. This wasn't the time or place. He was still on school grounds, for pity's sake. He bowed his head and bit his lip. Sitting behind his desk, he pressed the heel of his hand hard against his erection and willed it to go down. Thoughts of being stuck here, teaching pimply-faced adolescents, and dealing with overbearing parents for the rest of his life helped.

Arousal thwarted, he began to relax just as there was a knock at the door. John jerked his head up in surprise. It was end of semester. All of the students should have gone home by now. He cussed under his breath. If the chancellor was about to harangue him again for not passing a favored student because of the parent's expectations…. 

Before he had time for further ruminations, a head poked in the door. 

"Hi. Got time to see an old friend?"

"Rodney?"

"Hello, John." Rodney stood with his hands clasped in front of him, eyes wide with hope, as if there could possibly be a question of John's delight in seeing him again. Struggling to his feet, John stretched out his hands in welcome. Good hip propped against the desk, he allowed Rodney to pull him into a hug. 

John slapped him on the back in return. "My God, man, it's good to see you again!" Rodney's freshly shaved cheek was soft against his own, and taking advantage of the moment, John inhaled the scent of him, an action he immediately covered by pounding Rodney on the back one more time. "It's good. This is good. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed, Rodney ran a finger around the collar of his shirt, though it didn't look tight. Surely, John wondered, the forceful Rodney McKay couldn't be nervous? "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

It sounded like bluster to John. "Tell me, at least, that you can stay awhile." 

"I can't stay long, and I hope that…" Rodney paused, and pointed at the puzzle on John's desk. "Oh, good. I see you're already working on it." 

John rubbed the back of his neck, feeling self-conscious at the way he'd arranged the crystals. 

"Hm, interesting placement. What made you…never mind. It looks like you think one is missing." 

"I don't know why I did that. It just seemed like it was supposed to go that way. I wasn't exactly thinking about it."

Rodney waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind that now. I have something more important to discuss." He fumbled in his breast pocket. "Here." He flashed a pair of tickets in front of John's eyes. "I wanted to put them in the box, but I couldn't get these until I arrived in New York."

"Is that…?" John grabbed Rodney's flailing wrist for a better look. "Are these what I think they are?"

"Do you think they're steamship tickets to England?" Rodney practically chortled in glee. "They are exactly that. One for both of us. I took the liberty…I was hoping… ah, with summer break, I thought we might travel together. There are things – discoveries – you really must see. Astounding things, John. Your letters led me to believe you might enjoy such an adventure with me." Rodney looked at him with pleading eyes. "Please tell me I'm not wrong."

Leaning heavily against the desk, John shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what to say, Rodney. You know I'd love to go with you, but my leg…you've never made an issue of it and I've always appreciated that about you. But…I don't think I could bear to be a burden." 

"Ah. You, my friend, are in for a marvelous surprise. We're traveling first class on one of the new luxury liners. _The City of New York_ , to be precise. She's not the fastest ship in the water, but close. She can make the trip from New York to Liverpool in less than eight days, with every possible comfort provided. It's a safe bet, John, that her salon outshines your living quarters. Besides, the sea air will do you good."

"England. Something to do with the stuff in this box, then?" John asked.

"Just say yes, you'll come, and I promise to explain everything on the way. Let me – for want of a better expression – sweep you off your feet, at least this once."

"I…all right. This once." A smile crept across his face. "Oh, and Rodney, just because I'm going along with this sweeping-me-off-my-feet business, don't make the mistake of thinking I'm a girl."

"No fear of that. I've always taken note of your rakish masculinity and I wouldn't want you any other way." Eyes twinkling, he added, "Besides, a woman could only weep if she were born with your mop of unruly hair." Pausing, he added, "I think I miss that soup-strainer you had hanging off your lip. Still, I confess, this clean-shaven look and shorter hair suits you. It's very, um…Byronesque."

"Thank you? I think." Privately, John wondered if that comment was Rodney's subtle inquiry into his sexual preference. Instead of pursuing it, he said, "Well, I can't say I miss the mustache. The damn thing itched in the heat. Here, help me tidy up. I'll drop off these papers, and then you and I will hunt down a steamer trunk or two and you can help me pack. Sound good?"

"It couldn't sound better," Rodney, answered, grinning from ear-to-ear.

~*~

John leaned his arms against the ship's rail, watching the city skyline grow smaller with each passing minute. It was a beautiful morning, warm for June, and the sea so calm he hardly felt the ship moving. He touched the navy wool scarf at his throat, ducked his head, and smiled. It was Rodney's doing, mother-henning him with this ridiculous gesture as he'd wrapped the scarf around John's neck and carried on about sea breezes.

Currently, Rodney was off demanding coffee service from the stewards and arranging their deck chairs in the sunniest spot he could find. John suspected Rodney would be happier exploring the salon below deck, but he wasn't ready to give up this view of the wide-open sea.

He also wasn't ready for seven days and nights of sharing a stateroom and a bed, no matter how big a bed it was. Disaster loomed in that quarter; John could feel it. It was too late to do anything about it now. He'd just have to marshal his thoughts and his self-control as best he could. 

Rodney waved at him to approach and John took a steadying grip on his cane. Time to go on the offensive. Rodney owed him a week's worth of explanations and John intended to find out exactly what his rapscallion friend was up to – and exactly why the deuce they were on their way to England. 

John sat down at their table and watched as Rodney inhaled deeply, his coffee cup so close to his nose John wondered why the steam didn't scorch it. "Try it, John, you won't be disappointed." He shot John a sly smile. "If nothing else, it will replace... how did your letter word it? That lingering scent of vacuous student."

"Then, my friend, this trip is all worthwhile," John teased back. After a pause, he added, "It's too late to turn back, Rodney. I've taken a lot on faith, and now I think it's time you told me what's going on."

"I will. I will. Can't we just enjoy traveling together for a few days first?" Rodney's hands were never clumsy, but he fumbled the china cup, nearly dropping hot coffee into his lap.  
Setting down his own cup, John folded his arms across his chest and waited. 

"Fine," Rodney huffed. "But I reserve the right to entertain you with my theories until I can convince you I'm not crazy." 

They sat and talked until they reached the dregs of the coffee pot. Rodney's proposal was interesting – John gave him that. At least as much as John could get him to explain, which was damned little. Rodney was far too deft at evading answers and somehow they ended up talking about everything else under the sun. All he really learned was that Erik Langford, a German archeologist of some note, was storing Egyptian artifacts in an English castle.

Now, between them, they had an American teacher and a Canadian adventurer thrown into the pot. John still wanted to travel; he'd just had no idea this trip would turn into an international expedition. He couldn't help wondering what was coming next.

"The air's cooling off. Let's get settled into our stateroom." Rodney stood up and waited patiently and without any evidence of pity. 

"Sorry. The leg's stiffened up," John ground out, lurching to his feet.

"No matter. Once we're unpacked, it will be time for dinner. After which, I think a good stiff drink in the bar is in order." 

John leaned into Rodney's supportive hand as they navigated the stairs. He had to accept help; it didn't mean he had to like it. To take his mind off the pain, he began asking questions. "This renovation of Dunster castle you mentioned – what's it look like now?"

"Ah, that." Rodney rubbed at the side of his nose. "It would seem George Luttrell, once he'd inherited the thing, had an attack of over-imagination and decided to go for a Gothic look. Hmm, the less said about that the better. Frankly, I'm far more interested in the modernized accommodations inside than the artistic attempt on the outside. Then, of course, there are the storerooms. Quite generous of the family to allow Dr. Langford to house his artifacts there until the things get sorted." 

They halted in front of their stateroom and John breathed a sigh of relief as Rodney unlocked their door. "One bed to share, I'm afraid, but I already told you that."

"Yes, Rodney, you did." John lifted his leg up on the bed with a groan. "Sorry to be such a wet blanket."

"Surely the ship's surgeon has some kind of elixir or medicinal concoction that will help. Do you want me to fetch him, John?"

"I just need a minute. I think I'll pass on the snake oil, but I might just have that whiskey before dinner, if you don't mind." 

John's eyes slid closed as he sank gratefully into the mattress. He could hear Rodney moving quietly about their cabin and guessed correctly that he was unpacking and sorting through their things. Maybe he should care more. After all, a man's intimate belongings should be sacrosanct, but frankly, it felt good to be cared for. Besides, there wasn't another person he trusted more.

Curious, he furtively watched Rodney through heavy-lidded eyes. He couldn't help but feel ridiculously pleased to catch his friend – who obviously believed John was asleep – arranging their neckties side-by-side. 

Cursing the need, John shifted his hip for comfort. The movement must have startled Rodney because he quickly put everything back into its proper, separate place. Gathering up his shaving kit, he moved to the washroom. John enjoyed one last look at the tantalizing shift of Rodney's back muscles beneath the fine cotton of his shirt and then the door closed between them. 

Despite his best efforts, John fell asleep. When he woke, Rodney was still dithering over his appearance. For a moment, John wondered if he'd missed some formal invitation.

"It's about time you woke." Rodney closed his pocket watch with a snap. "Seating in the dining room is at the half hour. I've laid out your things for, ah, expediency." 

John rubbed a hand over his bristles. "Is there time to shave?"

"Barely." Rodney stared down at his hands and a tinge of color rose on his cheeks. "I could help you."

It was tempting. With a sigh, John knew he'd have to refuse. The thought of having Rodney that close, leaning over him, long, capable fingers touching his face and knowing there was naught he could do about it – well, it certainly wouldn't make sharing a bed this night any easier.

"Hang it," John said, getting up off the bed. "Let them take me with my day-end scruff. After all, a man deserves to relax on his first real vacation in ten years. Aw, don't look so disappointed, Rodney. I'll tidy the rest of me, neat as a pin. Promise."

True to his word, John looked as presentable as his wardrobe allowed. There wasn't much need for formal wear in his life and he was glad Rodney had insisted he purchase at least two good suits and one of them with tails. Admittedly, he'd thought it a foolish extravagance until they went down to dinner.

Surrounded by the kind of grandeur he'd only heard rumors of, he and Rodney stood at the foot of a grand staircase waiting for a steward to guide them to their seats. John poked at the patterned carpeting with his cane. "Oriental?"

"Possibly," Rodney said. "Lavish accommodations and speed is, after all, what the steamship business is all about these days." 

"I suppose," John paused to point up with his cane, "that explains the chandelier."

"Oh my," Rodney said, eyes taking in the sparkling lights above. "That is impressive."

Beckoned to their table, Rodney laid his hand on the small of John's back and guided him forward. "Take note of the silver service and china, John. If our meal is as good as its setting, I'd say we're in for an excellent treat."

An hour later, stuffed to the gills, John had to agree. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at Rodney, a smile playing across his lips. "You look happy."

"I am." He slid his hand discreetly over John's and clasped it firmly. 

Rodney's hand lingered there – and continued to do so until John thought his heart would burst from the intimacy of it. 

Rodney's eyelashes fluttered for a bare moment, and then he looked up, earnest hope written all over his face. "Am I too bold?" He gently squeezed John's hand. "Have I misunderstood? For god's sake, man, say something. At least tell me I haven't destroyed our friendship." He began to draw his hand away.

A move that, in John's mind, simply would not do. He grasped Rodney's hand in turn. "No. Not too bold." Such shocking power those words seemed to have. Though Rodney said not one word, his hand trembled under John's. 

A long moment passed between them, so intense that John had to close his eyes. Even so, he never let go of Rodney's hand. In honesty, he doubted he could. He felt a callused finger trace his jaw, a rasp of sensation dragging across his rough stubble. It was as devastating as he'd imagined. John's eyes flew open and he found himself staring into a world of blue. 

"I confess," Rodney said, "I never thought this far ahead. I was so afraid you wouldn't want this. Want me, in this way. Forgive me if I'm a little giddy right now."

Boldly, and because he had no words, John wove his fingers in between Rodney's and held on.

"Our stateroom, then?" Rodney asked. 

John nodded and rose to his feet as quickly as he was able.

~*~

He lay on the brass bed, sheets and bedding rucked somewhere down below his ankles. Rodney hovered over him, acting as though he were too afraid to touch.

Frustrated, John attempted to remove his last remaining article of clothing when Rodney's warm palms stilled his hands. 

"Stop. I want… please, John, let me do this." 

Rodney pulled John's drawers down carefully, easing the fabric gently over John's rising cock. 

Too slowly, as far as John was concerned. "I won't break, you know." 

"Oh, you'll break." 

Rodney had barely finished speaking when his mouth came down over John's cock. He sucked hard, and John's hips thrust up off the bed of their own volition. 

"Rodney!" All John received for his protest was Rodney's hand, patting soothing circles on his belly. 

Surely, his brain whited out, because John's world turned into suction and thrust. It was so far beyond his control that when he finally yielded, hot and wildly into Rodney's mouth, he didn't give a damn if Rodney forgave him for it or not. 

A moan escaped him that sounded very much like, _oh, god, Rodney_. Forcing himself up onto his elbows, John found enough strength to ask, "What do you need?"

"Your hand, John. Put your hand on me. I'm already so close…"

Eagerly, John reached for him. With his help, Rodney's clothes were quickly shed and scattered to who-cared-where. John drew in a sharp breath. By God, it felt so good to have Rodney's cock in his hand. It felt like silk over steel. He gave it a tentative squeeze. Rodney's resulting whine was music to his ears. 

He didn't hesitate. Rather, he found a rhythm that matched the pant of Rodney's rough breath and reveled in the contradiction of softness over strength in his hand. Reveled in it until his dearest friend's groans overwhelmed them both. A final desperate clench and pull and it was done. Rodney's warm essence spilled over his hand and John, without thought, brought his fingers to his mouth and languidly licked them clean. 

Rodney shuddered and John grinned.

~*~

Their days at sea fell into a routine after that. John couldn't recall a time when he'd ever felt happier. Mornings, he tried to be the first to wake. It was pure self-indulgence on his part because Rodney's solid warmth didn't just ease his body. Watching Rodney sleep, the simple intimacy of the moment, warmed him in a way he couldn't explain.

He found himself cataloging every sleep-snuffle, every flutter of those eyelashes. What would happen when this journey was done and their time together over, he refused to consider.

Eventually, John's bladder would make the mundane fact of its existence known, and he'd get up as quietly as he could. This morning, he intended to surprise Rodney with breakfast in bed. 

The minute he stepped into the corridor, he knew something was wrong. 

"It's a storm, sir," the purser said, nearly running him down. "I've come to let all the passengers know to stay off the main deck until it's blown itself out. Nothing to worry about, just a squall, really. It should blow itself out soon." 

Before John could ask any further questions, the man was already down the hall and knocking at the door of the next cabin. 

When he went back inside, Rodney was wide awake and sitting up in bed, clutching his stomach.

"Blasted sea travel," Rodney moaned. "Will this damn ship ever stop lurching? You'd think as much as I've traveled, I'd be used to this." 

The ship rolled, and even John felt it that time. Thank God, his reflexes were quick. He grabbed a bucket and shoved it into Rodney's hands in the nick of time. John knew vicious schoolboys that would have teased a man in Rodney's condition with stories of eggs with runny yolks and greasy slabs of hogshead cheese. But John wasn't a cruel man, so, instead, he asked, "Do you want me to get the doctor?"

"Ha, you're nearly as bad off as I am. This foul weather is playing havoc with your leg. I can tell by the way you favor it." Rodney paled, caught again in the clutches of the ship's motion. 

"I can handle it." John pointed to the porthole. "The rain's stopped. I expect we'll have calm seas again any minute now. Let me take care of you for a change." Putting action to words, John wrung out a cloth and laid it over Rodney's forehead. "Lie still. I'll fix you a ginger water. I can certainly get around well enough to do that."

"Thank you." Rodney looked like he had more to say but he just closed his eyes and submitted to John's tender attentions.

It seemed as if realization had walked up and smacked him with a baseball bat. John felt pathetically grateful as Rodney's eyes stayed closed. He needed time to come to terms with this in private. These sudden feelings left him as unsettled as the weather outside. 

John was fully prepared to deal with love's nature, be it physical passion or romantic notion. But this – he raked his hands through his hair, wishing he could pace the length of the deck. This was so much deeper. Heaven help him for it, but John knew now he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Rodney McKay.

~*~

"The captain tells me we're right on schedule, John. We should arrive early tomorrow." Rodney's hands curled around the ship's rail as he stared out at the flat sea. "I think we'd best pack up most of our things tonight."

"Good thinking."

Looking discomforted, Rodney continued. "Luttrell promised to have transport waiting to take us to the castle." He paused. "John, I daresay this will be the most uncomfortable part of the trip for you. I'd like to apologize for that in advance."

"Don't concern yourself," John snapped, bristling at the hint of pity. Noticing the distraught expression on Rodney's face, he relented. "I suppose it's possible I can think of some way you can make it up to me."

~*~

Coach travel to their destination took hours. The fire in John's hip was no worse than he expected, given Rodney's warning, but he could have kissed the ground when they finally arrived at the castle. When he tried to rise, sweat broke out across his forehead and John swallowed down a gasp of pain. Judging by the concern on Rodney's face, he must have looked as drained and pale as he felt.

Once more, John was grateful for Rodney's ability to refrain from fussing. He simply did what he could to make John comfortable, helping John into his wheelchair and tucking a warm rug around his legs. The flask of brandy he slipped into John's hand was especially welcome. Then, with sure, steady hands, Rodney pushed him carefully toward the castle's entrance.

After a long swallow of brandy, John admitted, "This is not how I wanted to make my first visit to a castle."

"No one here cares how you make your entrance, John," Rodney said. "They simply care that you're here. We have permission to roam the premises as we please for the whole summer."

"Why is that, exactly?" John asked. "And why should they care that I'm here?" He looked sharply at Rodney. "What haven't you told me?" Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "How exactly did you get permission from Luttrell to allow us to stay here, anyway? Save his life? Rescue his firstborn? What?"

"Apart from my famous reputation as an explorer and adventurer, you mean?"

"Yes, Rodney. Apart from that."

"Ah, well, in that case it would be because of you."

"For God's sake, why?"

"It's vaguely possible that he's under the impression you're a somewhat famous American laureate. One who's here to write an article about him and the castle's restoration for…" Rodney smiled weakly. "For the Encyclopedia Britannica. George has a thing about the posterity of the Luttrell name, you see. Don't get your dander up, John. Look at it this way – just by coming here, you've made the old fellow as proud as a peacock."

Speechless, John shook his head. Anything he thought he should say felt useless against Rodney's unconcern. "Fine. But we're going to talk about this later."

~*~

Two days later, John felt not only fully recovered from his travels, but the beginnings of boredom. With a long afternoon looming ahead, he decided to hunt down Rodney. The servants were only too glad to point him in the direction of Mr. McKay, leaving John with the definite impression that Rodney was already making an infamous name for himself within Luttrell's staff.

Making his way down the long hall, he opened the door to, judging by its rugs and wall hangings, what must have once been a reading room. Now, it was clearly being used for storage.

"Rodney –" John looked at the dozens of crates in the room stacked one atop the other. Through the open doorway, he could see another room that looked its equal. "Just how many storerooms are there?"

"Hmmm, what?" Rodney was busy inspecting the crates and seemed to be looking for one in particular. "Four, six, somewhere in that ballpark," he answered, still distracted by something in one of the crates.

"And we have to go through all of them?" 

Rodney looked up then and grinned. "We've got all summer, the food is good, and we've essentially got the run of the place. Why? Were you in a hurry to get back to your blackboards and chalk dust?"

John rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, when you put it that way, I guess not. What are you looking at?"

"C'mere." Rodney opened a breadbox-sized chest. "Look inside. See anything familiar?"

The chest was full of ornate jewelry and crystal pieces of every shape, color, and size. John sifted through them until he found an exact match to his crystals. Holding it up to the light, he asked, "Is this where those other pieces came from?"

"It is. Of course, I had no notion at the time that one was missing until I saw how you'd arranged them on your desk. You don't by chance have them with you?"

"I do." John pulled out large, leather wallet from the pocket of his sack jacket. "I've got them all right here." Opening it up, he added the missing crystal to its brothers. He looked sheepishly back at Rodney. "Good luck charms. You never know when you'll need fate to smile on you."

"You have a romantic heart, my friend. You just don't want anyone to know it." Rodney leaned over to whisper in John's ear, "I'd kiss you now, but I'm not sure I could stop and I'm not ready to give the servants a peep show."

Feeling the blood rush to his cheeks, John shivered with Rodney's hot breath against his ear. He remembered that same warm breath ghosting over other, more intimate places just this morning. Pulling himself together, he managed to say, "Tell me more about what we came all across the Atlantic to look for. You've kept this a secret long enough."

"Ah, yes. I suppose I have." Crossing the room, Rodney pulled a crate away from the wall, revealing a recessed cupboard. "I put this where I hoped no one would find… ah." He pulled out a squat, not-vase shaped object from its hiding place and set it in the middle of the floor.

Geometric panels radiated out from its edges like truncated wheel spokes. It was the strangest looking device John had ever seen and he'd been witness to the school's student science fair projects for years. "If that thing's Egyptian, Rodney, I'll eat my hat."

"Your hat is safe. Now observe." Rodney flipped a switch and an illusion lit up of a pretty woman with dark hair, and soft, brown eyes. She wore a Roman toga that covered her from shoulders to toes, but left her arms bare.

"How is it doing that?" John asked, trying not to look as astounded as he felt.

"Nothing to worry about. I've watched this several times. It's a more advanced illusion than you're used to seeing, I'll grant you that, but it's still just an illusion. Just some type of flexible film, a trick of light and concealed mirrors. Rather like Reynaud's praxinoscope, an idea that he continues to deny he stole from me… ahem, well, that's not important right now." Rodney flushed. "Continuing on – since you were about to ask, no, I didn't trigger the device. It already seemed to be stuck in the 'on' position. I merely provided a power source and voila!"

The woman began to speak. 

"What sort of language is that?" John whispered.

"Undetermined, but I assure you it's not any known Egyptian dialect. Fortunately, our lady here is about to give us a demonstration so words aren't necessary." He barely finished speaking when images appeared in the air as part of the illusion. "She's by far the most complex imaging I've ever seen. I've watched this several times and I still have no idea how it's done." He waved his hand. "Not that I can't figure it out eventually, mind you." Pointing, he added, "Watch this part closely, John." 

The woman slid a slim bracelet over her hand. Her fingertips nestled into glove-like metallic thimbles and the entire thing connected to a palm-shield by use of fine golden chains. With a touch of a jewel at her wrist, it expanded, resembling the unfolding of a fan. It kept expending until the device reached her elbow.

"How did she –?"

"– Expand the device like that?" Rodney shook his head. "It's either a meteorological phenomenon or it's made from an element unlike anything we've come across. Never mind that, now. Keep watching."

An expanded image of a mouse appeared in front of the lady. It looked like any other rodent: a pink, wiggly nose, soft ears, and grey whiskers. The only difference, as near as John could tell, was that half of its tail was missing. Under the soft blue glow radiating from the hand device, its tail began to grow.

"Notice how the mouse doesn't seem fazed in the least," Rodney said. "No signs of pain or discomfort, and yet, within seconds, its tail is completely regenerated!"

John stood silent, turning the possibilities over in his mind. "You think that device is here in these artifacts somewhere." He drew in a breath. "And you want to use it on me." He turned slowly to face Rodney. "Will it work?"

"Yes. Yes. And I have no idea. But it's worth a try, don't you think?" Rodney smile was tentative, but his steady hand on John's arm was full of warm reassurance. 

"All right," John agreed with a lazy nod. "Now then, how do you propose we find this thing?"

"Erik Langford has given us run of the artifact rooms. His only condition is that we catalogue the items as we go. Oh, and he has a ten-year-old son. He wants us to make note of anything that might capture the boy's interest. I think he's hoping the lad will want to follow in his footsteps."

"Seems fair enough." John looked around at the abundance of crates, imagined their contents, and sighed. "It's a good thing we'll be here all summer."

A week later, they were still looking. The room was warm, and both John and Rodney had peeled off their jackets an hour ago and were now working with their shirtsleeves rolled up. Straw dust filled the air and John stopped work to mop his brow. Looking down at his sweat-sopped handkerchief, he felt entirely justified in whining, "Rodney, this isn't fun anymore."

Rodney stood, hands on hips, surveying the eclectic collection of artifacts all around them. "I admit this is a worse job than I expected." He picked up a small silver figure of a man with a dog's head. "There's no organization at all. I found this piece next to a copper and blue stone bracelet and both of these came out of the same crate that held a set of clay funeral masks. Nothing matches up. These don't even belong in the same time period, let alone the same place."

John nodded in agreement. "It's almost as if Langford raided someone's personal collection." 

"And then everything was packed up willy-nilly with no attempt to sort it. This reminds me, there's something else I need to show you. Luttrell didn't care for the looks of the thing so he had his staff push it into a corner and throw a rug over it. I think it's meant to be some sort of sarcophagus but like everything else here, it doesn't quite –"

"Wait! I found it!" John lifted his prize out the crate, gently blowing off the last remaining piece of packing straw. "It's smaller than I thought it would be, but this is it, isn't it, Rodney?"

Rushing over to look, Rodney inspected the device in John's hands. "It's more delicate than I expected, but yes – this is it!" They grinned at each other, neither noticing the scorpion crawling up the side of the crate.

Without warning, John grabbed a fistful of Rodney's shirt and yanked. Rodney nearly tumbled into him.

"What are you doing? 

The scorpion waved its black claws at them from the crate's edge. "That thing was almost on your hand, Rodney." 

"Oh. Well, all right then." Brushing it to the floor, Rodney's solid boot came down on top of it, leaving behind a crunchy smear. "Nasty things. Probably crawled in while the worker's back was turned."

Still clutching the healing device, John turned away from the ugly stain on the rug. "Let's figure out how this contraption works and not open any more crates for a while." 

It was a good plan. Rodney certainly agreed, judging from the way he poked and prodded at it.

"Don't try this on until we figure out more about how it works. I mean it, Rodney." 

"Of course not. Although, it's obvious this center jewel is some kind of on-off switch. I wonder if could have a psychic component? Not that voodoo, table-rattling foolishness, but…" Rodney snapped his fingers. "A mental sensitivity detection gauge!" 

Caught up in Rodney's enthusiasm, it never occurred to John that the dead scorpion might have a mate.

Rodney screamed, batting his hands at the back of his neck. A tar-black scorpion hung from his collar by a single claw, swaying like a morbid pendulum until it finally released its hold and dropped to the floor. 

John ground it under his heel with particular viciousness. He turned just in time to see Rodney collapse to his knees. "No!" He grabbed Rodney under his arms and gently lowered him to the floor. 

"Bad reaction. My lungs…can't..." Rodney gasped, just before his eyes rolled back and he passed out. 

Frantic, John snapped on the healing device. Any other time, he might be fascinated at the way it molded to his hand. Not today. Long seconds passed, seconds where Rodney's wheezing breath sounded like hollow bones rattling in a tin drum. Holding his arm over Rodney, he gave the device a sharp shake. "Work, you damnable contraption!"

Almost immediately, the device began unfolding. Silently, and in the space of seconds, it changed to a smooth glove that grew until it covered the entirety of John's arm. He couldn't spare the time to worry if he'd done it wrong.

"Hang on, buddy." Waves of light leapt from the palm of the device. The golden rays pulsed like a heartbeat, John's heartbeat. He made a slow sweeping motion over Rodney's body, dragging the light over every inch of him. Then he did it again. And again. 

Exhausted, John fell to his knees. Hand shaking so hard he could barely control it, he made one more pass before he collapsed.

"John? Dear God, what did you do?" 

"Saved you." John blinked wearily at Rodney. He felt so tired. "Guess it took a lot out of me." 

Sitting up, Rodney reached out to touch John's hair. "I'll fix this. I promise."

John tried to move closer; his body refused. When he looked down at his hand, he knew why. His skin was wrinkled and age-marked. Old. He'd aged forty years in the space of minutes. The device, now dark – burnt out – fell off his wrist and broke into a smattering of pieces. "Not…with that…"

"No, John. Not that, but I have an idea." 

Rodney's voice sounded funny. John scowled and tried to reach up and pat Rodney's face. "You're worried?"

"Terrified." 

Despite his weak protests, Rodney picked him up and carried him over to the sarcophagus. He kicked it open with his foot, propping John against the side where they could both look down into it. 

"You're sure this is a good idea?"

"No, but it's a chance we have to take. You gave me too much, and I don't know how to reverse it. But this thing has the same symbols on it as the hand device. "

"So it might reverse the effects or it might kill me," John said. 

"Us," Rodney said, and he tumbled them both into the device, pulling John down on top of him. 

"What are you doing?"

"For a start? Not living without you." Rodney sounded grim. "If this thing needs a life-force to work, it can use mine."

The cover closed over them and they lay in the quiet dark, waiting to see what would happen. 

"Together or not at all, eh?" John said. 

"Idiot." Rodney's voice was full of soft affection. "It's been like that for me since the day I met you."

_Epilogue_

 

"And you really don't think that anyone will find it odd that my injury has suddenly healed?" John asked. 

"Does it matter? Keep your wheelchair for looks, if you like," Rodney said, "but where we're going, no one will care."

"Going?" 

"You're healed now. There's nothing stopping you from coming with me on my travels. Just imagine it!" Rodney bumped his shoulder against John's. "I'll take us there and you can write about it."

"You want me to write?"

"I've no doubt our stories will turn into grand adventures in your hands. Did you think I didn't know that you went ahead and wrote about George Luttrell and his castle, even though you didn't have to?"

"I did. I convinced the local paper to publish it too," John answered back, dopey with pride. "They said they'd take anything I'd send them."

Rodney tugged at John's vest, pulling him close. "See? We were meant to be a team." 

John huffed softly into Rodney's warm neck and had to agree. They made a fine, grand team, indeed.

~***~


End file.
